dark corners
by wareme
Summary: Wahoo
1. Default Chapter

Note: I'm sorry about the poor uploading. I typed this on Microsoft Word, and I had to transfer it to Notepad in order to upload. This fic includes the first two parts, and I am working on a third. Again, sorry about the poor uploading. ^^;; Reviews are HIGHLY appreciated!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
dark corners  
  
  
  
  
  
1   
  
Bodies swarmed through the room, slamming into each other rythmically, moving to the beat of the music. The smell of alcohol wafted through the air. He could hear coughing in the bathroom. Probably somebody puking, maybe from the beer. Maybe it was the pot circle that had made its way around the perimeter of the party area. Or maybe the vomiting person had received a drugged drink. He shrugged. They'd survive.  
He took a sip of his beverage. Slowly letting it roll over his tongue, he tasted it for some bastard's idea of fun. I.e., drugs. Alcohol. Illegal shit like that. Well, he reconsidered, alcohol wasn't that bad. Frankly, it was downright mouth-watering after a person had been dancing and gyrating for four hours.   
He gave up on testing his drink and took two gulps. His vision became blurry. Shaking his head to clear his eyesight, he scanned the chaotic scene. Mauling couples on beer-soaked sofas. Puke in the carpet. Heavy metal music rumbling the walls, making it seem as if the earth was shaking...  
He slunk down the vomit and beer-splattered wall. Putting his hands to his face, he desperately tried to prevent what would happen from happening.   
He failed and slumped onto the floor.  
  
Morning. The Japanese boy could hear birds singing outside his window. More precisely, he could hear birds singing outside his hole in the wall, covered with a ripped and thin curtain.   
Sunlight streamed in through the ripped holes in the "window" curtain. He cracked open one eye. Lying on the battered mattress laid on the packed dirt floor, he arched his back in a stretch, opening the other eye.   
The shack this particular Japanese boy lived in was one of many, somewhat packed together in small rectangular lots. His lot had room for the little, about nine-by-nine foot hovel, a small ditch for wastes, and a tiny, four-by-four garden. There were no grass except for the weeds growing in his garden. Thus, for the few miles of shacks, all the ground was dirt, packed down over the years by trodden feet. The shantytown was small by the day's standards, with a few actual streets on the edge of it containing a small church (which the boy fervently stayed away from), a school plentiful in graffiti, a bar, and a few small shops, if they even deserved to be called that. All this was on the very edge of the "town", and the rest of the desolate landscaping were shacks. Shacks, stretching for a mile or two, packed together like boxes or dominoes. All this contributed to a rather depressing landscape.  
Nearby was a much larger town, almost a city. But this was for the much wealthier (in their opinion) people. Poor folks like the boy could hardly go into a bar in the City and ask for a red vodka. In the quiet shacks, the residents could hear the nightlife of the City, the honking and shouting and music. Almost wistfully was how they listened, imagining themselves at the bar or dancing in a club. Some groups of people held regular story-telling meetings, mostly about how they would win a jackpot and waltz into the City, saunter up to the bar, and order themselves a "sloe gin fizz." The City was, to many of the residents in Shantytown, a bustling paradise of everyone's desires.  
The boy sat up deliberately. I need something to eat, he thought. He hadn't eaten since supper two days ago. Then again, it wasn't as if food was plentiful in Shantytown. That's what the gardens were for. Some people even kept a few hens for meat and eggs.  
He ran a hand through his dark, tousled hair and stood up. Wearing his green tank top was a staple to everyday life. It wasn't as if he had an ample supply of clothes. He didn't. He walked over to the "window" and pulled back the curtain. Sunlight poured into the shack, filling it with light. Except for the dark corners where rats sometimes scavenged for crumbs.  
Staggering with weariness, he walked over to his small garden. There he kept a tiny orange tree, right there inside the garden. He inspected the various fruits hanging from it before selecting a ripe orange.  
He mechanically peeled the fruit and passed a wedge of it into his mouth. Ah, food, he thought. Yet, this was only a mere orange.  
"Hey, you over there!"  
He looked up.  
"What?" he asked monotonously.  
"You over there, you need to get yourself to school! Why it's eight o'clock already!" An old man appeared in the next shack over.  
That piece of garbage? They call that a school? he wondered absently, and walked indifferently back into his hovel.  
"Hey you! You can't get anywhere without an education, don't you know that? I can make you a deal, boy!"  
Prone to deal-making, the boy turned around.  
"What kind of a deal?" he asked suspiciously.  
The old man smiled widely.  
"A beneficial one, I can tell you that."  
The boy narrowed his eyes and turned to stalk back into his shack.  
"Wait boy, let me show you this."  
The boy turned around and gasped.  
Where the man's right hand should have been was a claw.  
Metal.  
Gleaming.  
Blinding.  
Mesmerized, the boy walked closer to the man, who smiled a friendly smile.  
And found himself clutching his stomach in pain.  
  
  
  
2  
  
He woke up to find himself sprawled at the end of a filthy alley. Groggily, he tried to remember where he was. I must have blacked out. Again. It happened often. He would meander into a party (without invitation- those were not necessary), get lost in dancing, and try hard not to drink anything that was opened already. But his thirst almost always got the better of him. Giving in, he would grab the nearest beverage, downing it in three seconds flat. Sometimes it had drugs in it. Sometimes it didn't. Always, it had alcohol.  
But who could blame him? Where else was he supposed to go? Home? Right. Sure. Home was not existent. During the day he slept, occasionally changing locations as the daylight wore on. A person could never be seen sleeping in the same place in the City. It might suggest vulnerability. He had seen several unfortunate sleepers die because of their location. Not fair, yes. Survival wasn't the most noble thing in the world.  
He painfully sat up and leaned against the exterior of the building that formed the alleyway, checking himself for telltale damage. Only a few bruises. No needle pricks or slashes...amazing. First time he had zero flesh wounds. No injections or cuts. Uncanny.  
Next, he carefully checked his hair. Long and wavy, he normally kept it in a braid tied with whatever string he could find. He quickly checked it for split ends and pieces of glass. His hair was his pride and joy. Nobody could take that away from him.  
"Duo, hey, Duo!" a voice called. Subsequently, a figure jogged up to him.  
Duo peered up at the person.  
"Oi, hi, Xan." The boy with short black hair nodded his greetings and plopped down next to Duo.  
"Was hangin'?" he asked conversationally.  
Xan shrugged.  
"Got sum o' that new shit they've got at Millard's..." he trailed off.  
"Ya mean the powdery white junk? C'mon, Xan, this ain't the gutter..." Duo tried to coax his friend out of the dangerous position he was in.  
"Wanna bet, Maxwell? This sure as hell is close." Xan said belligerently.  
Duo looked down at his hands. The purple lines that ran diagonally across his wrists seemed to jump out at him, teasing him. Flashbacks flooded his head, screaming at him.  
"K'so, Xan! You won't live long then, man. That Kev guy just overdosed last week! You know...it's really not that great..." Duo tried to persuade Xan to lay off the drug. Duo may have drank in his time, but anything that you sniffed and was powdery he strained away from. Too many of his fellow partiers had gotten seriously screwed up or worse, died from the drugs that circulated the city undergrounds.  
"Hell, Duo, s'ain't so bad...see, look, I gots some in my pocket." Xan pulled a small baggie out from his pants pocket.  
Duo instantly shivered. /Get that stuff away from me!/ his conscience cried. Eyes glazed over, he lapsed into a state of blockage to surroundings. He heard nothing of what was going on...  
  
  
It's tearing me down  
ripped my lungs in half  
I'm drowning  
Drowning inside  
No one's got a life preserver  
And no one knows CPR.  
I'm swimming in the tidal wave  
The current's taking me under  
Feelings gone asunder  
Where's my ship, where's  
my sail  
I'm leaving, I'm gone  
I feel like I've died.  
Maybe I have.  
Maybe I haven't.  
Maybe I should just get the hell away  
From people.  
People, so damn many people  
I can hear them, but there's always  
the little voice  
Inside my head  
That screams,  
"You're lying, always lying..."  
I'm a liar.  
The voice is drowning out the people.  
I'm drowning again.  
It's killing my lungs.  
It's killing me.  
I've gone to the depths.  
Straight to hell.  
and  
into the pit of  
Nothing.  
  
---Red Tide  
  
  
Duo's eyes shot open. Xan was slumped beside him, head lolled down on his own shoulder. Duo shook his head, trying to remember what was going on. Dammit, it happened again! he thought, panicking.  
Duo had often gotten that glazed-eye look, when nothing and no one could "snap him out of it." It was almost as if he were in a trance, and no one could wake him out of it. And it seemed that this trance only ever happened in a bad situation. He struggled to regain his senses of his surroundings. I'm right where I woke up....and here's Xan....okay, I think I know what's going on now...  
"Xan?" Duo asked tentatively.  
Nothing.  
"Hey, buddy...c'mon, stop fooling around..." Duo chided nervously. Xan didn't move.  
Duo carefully lifted Xan's head off of his shoulder. His eyes rolled upwards.  
Xan was dead.  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 3

Here we go, Part 3! *grins madly* Yes, it's a bit short, but I can't just mush everything together, now, can I? *^_^* Let  
s see. Warnings: Language, a bit of blasphemy at the end, I guess. Or maybe not. Depends how you take it. Also AU. Note: this takes place BEFORE Dr.J. loses his eyes (or before he starts wearing those goggles (?). Yes, the 4th part shalt come soon. *goes ahead and works on it* Enjoy!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
3  
  
"Ugh..." he groaned in pain. The old man smiled, a creepy smile, a smile that could be taken for good if one was an idiot.  
"K'ah! Never misjudge the Claw, boy." The man wiggled what should have been his hand in front him. It wasn't a hand needless to say. It was...a claw. That had pinched his stomach rather hard.  
"Who...the.....hell are you?" asked the boy, still sunk onto his knees in pain.  
The old man grinned again, his thin mustache twinkling.  
"Who am I? You, kid, can call me J. Doctor J. I was educated, you know."  
The boy sputtered out a weak laugh.  
"No...you couldn't have...or else you wouldn't be living in this shit village." he contradicted.  
"Oh?" Dr.J's eyes gleamed. They were a honey color, like a cat's.  
"..." the boy stood up shakily.  
"What's your name, kid?" Dr. J. asked, still with a strange smile on his face.  
"I have no name." the voice coming from the slender figure was cold.  
"No name, huh? You're gonna get a name, then. How about Gerrardo?" Dr.J. inquired.  
"I don't want a name."  
"Hasaku?"  
"No."  
"Alexei?"  
"No."  
"Fernando?" He was hopping from nationality to nationality.  
"No!" the boy said, irritated.  
Dr.J. put a finger to his chin thoughtfully. The boy stood rather uneasily.  
"Do you remember when this place had potential? When people had jobs? When people had food and houses?" the older man asked.  
"No." the boy strained his memory. Had he ever been with a family and had food and a job? Potential?  
"Christ, kid. How old are you?"  
"Dunno." And he didn't. All memories were gone, erased. Did he even have a birthday? He didn't think so.  
"Well...let me tell you something. You know this place had good stuff?" he repeated.  
"..." The boy didn't know. He nodded anyway.  
"We had a man named Heero Yuy. The guy did nothing but improve society, you know that? He'd go around stopping fights and arresting illegal bars. The man was a damn genius." Dr.J. had a faraway look on his eyes.  
"I met him once. Good friend." he added.  
The boy felt nothing. Part of him wished he'd gone back into his hut. The other part wanted Dr.J. to continue. He merely nodded again.  
"And do you know what happened?" the man asked him. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "He was shot. Shot down by a bastard we never caught. You ever hear of JFK? Similar thing."  
"Sorry." Still the boy felt nothing.  
"Damn right if you're sorry. You're sorry that you're in this shit town with a man who's a human Inspector Gadget. Yuy was a great man. Never to be compared by anyone. Not even you. But maybe..." Dr.J. trailed off.  
"What?" The boy asked quietly.  
"Look. You have no name. You don't know anything, right?" Dr.J. asked.  
This wasn't true. The boy did know something. This man was wierd.  
"I'm going to make you into something. You're gonna be the resurrected Heero Yuy, got it? And I'm going to be your teacher. Your family, if you want to get sentimental. When it'll all come down to it, I'm going to be the only one you'll trust. You won't trust anyone else."  
"You can't do that." the boy retorted haughtily. Who was this guy to teach him? Heaven forbid he was practically adopted.  
"Hell I can't. You're Heero Yuy now, got it? Refuse and I'll use this claw to make you wish you didn't."  
The boy believed him. And thus, he was Heero Yuy. But Heero Yuy wasn't a person yet. Heero Yuy needed a purpose. Heero Yuy needed a personality.  
"You're mine."  
Or did he?  
  
  
Duo took one look at Xan's body and did the only thing he could think of doing. He ran.  
And stopped. /He can't just lay there for some asshole to found joy with/ he thought anxiously. Duo turned around and went back.  
Xan was still in the slumped position he had died in. Duo took great care in dragging him over to behind the garbage cans. At least his body would be safer there.  
"Murderer, eh? I knew many of those." A voice wafted through the air. A reedy voice that scared the wits out of Duo.  
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, whirling around, looking for the origin of the voice.  
A shadow appeared by a boarded-up door.  
Duo saw a glinting smile.  
"I'm your saviour."   



	3. Part 4

Greetings. Part 4 is right here...sadly, it's marked on FFN as Chapter 3 because I combined parts 1 & 2. Again, a bit short, but I have been pretty fast with uploading the new parts, so you won't really wait as long as if I wrote a very long chapter. Besides, you need time to read other fics, right? *grin* Enjoy!  
  
I do not own Gundam Wing, etc.  
  
Suggestions and comments are always appreciated.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
4  
  
The boy so recently named Heero Yuy stood before his new mentor. Dr.J. held out a piece of wood.  
"Break this." he said, holding it out. Heero didn't like the smirk on his face. And to be frank, he didn't exactly like Dr.J. as a person either. The man had a sneaky air to him. If a person talked to him, they never felt like they were getting the whole story.   
Heero scrunched up his fist and slammed it down on the wooden board as hard as he could. It barely wobbled in Dr.J.'s hands. Dr.J. laughed, an eerie laugh, almost mocking.  
"Weakling, eh?" he mocked.  
Heero said nothing.  
"Watch this." And Dr.J. pulled his arm back, letting it gain power. With a thud he cleanly snapped the board in two.  
"You're going to do this soon. Very soon." Heero did not like the sound of his voice.  
  
Two hundred pushups and ninety-eight crunches later, Heero was a wreck. Dr.J. was an absolute tyrant. He never pushed his authority over the limit, just so that Heero would feel irritated enough to attempt to show him up. More often than not, he failed. Heero had darted between shacks for two hours, running the complicated courses Dr.J. had set up for him. A few brief rests were the only comforts. At late evening, when the sun went down and the lanterns lit up, the weary Heero would stagger back to his hovel to sleep, only to go through the same ordeal the next day. After many weeks of vigorous training, Dr.J. had a new surprise for him.  
He had woken Heero up at dawn, as usual. To Heero's surprise, Dr.J. had a small bird in his hand. Well, to be more precise, it was in a small cage, a thin piece of rope tied about its neck. The tiny bird was fretful and flapped about its tiny enclosure, beady eyes flashing. Heero felt sorry for the tiny avian.  
"Kill it." were Dr.J.'s only words.  
Heero looked up in shock.  
"What?"  
"You heard me. Kill it." Dr.J.'s voice stayed calm, as if killing small birds was an everyday activity for him.  
"Why?" Heero could not imagine why anyone would want to kill such a tiny and helpless thing.  
"Do. It." Dr.J. was becoming impatient.  
"No." Heero shifted on his feet. He was nervous about going against Dr.J., but he felt the urge to rebel. He felt sorry for the little thing.  
Quick as a flash, Dr.J. whipped out a knife. Before Heero had realized what was happening, Dr.J. had somehow restrained his arms and was holding the knife dangerously close to his neck.  
"Kill it." he said again, voice becoming increasingly menacing.  
Heero gulped. He really did not want to kill the bird, but did he have a choice?  
"Take it and slash its neck." Dr.J. ordered.  
"You have the knife." Heero commented. Dr.J. let go of his arms and wordlessly handed him the knife. Heero saw his advantage and lunged at the older man, aiming for his throat.  
He failed. Dr.J. had pinned him on the ground, trying to wrestle the knife out of his hands. He finally managed to retrieve the knife from the thrashing Heero and grabbed his neck, lifting him a few inches off the ground.  
"Watch." He snarled, and swiftly sliced the small bird's neck open. Its wings fluttered a moment and then moved no more.  
Dr.J. threw Heero back down onto the ground, landing with a thud. Heero hung his head, panting. Dr.J. spoke with a threatening voice.  
"You can't even kill a damn bird. How successful are you going to be in working for me?" he asked vehemently.  
Heero's head flew up.  
"Whaddya mean, * working* for you?" he sputtered. J simply kicked his foot.  
"You're the resurrected Yuy. You are going to be made the way he should have been. The * correct* way."  
"..." Heero was speechless. He wondered what exactly the * correct* way was, be dared not ask.  
Dr.J. turned away swiftly. A small drop of red drifted from his hand.  
"You did get me with your knife, however. You're going to be just like I envisioned..." he trailed off, walking towards his own hovel.  
Heero stayed on the ground, mind swirling with thoughts of his future.  
/And will I be the Heero Yuy I imagined? Or just the opposite?/ he wondered.  
  
  
  
"The hell you are." Duo growled. Really. A friend had just died and some asshole is pretending to be God. How comforting.  
The shadowed figure emerged as an older man with a distinct, long nose like a hawk.  
"Oh? And what happens when someone comes along and suspects * you* for the murder of your friend, Duo?" inquired the reedy voice of the man.  
Duo stepped backwards. He hadn't thought of that, being blamed for a murder. His face grew hot.  
"I didn't do it!" he protested hotly.  
"Oh, really?" mocked the man in a singsong voice. Duo stepped backwards again. /Holy shit, he's a psycho/, Duo thought.  
"Get the hell away from me." Duo spat out.  
"Try and see if you can make me, Duo." /How the hell did this guy know his name?/ wondered Duo absently.  
"Who are you?" he asked. Might as well know this guy's name if the guy knew his.  
"Call me G. So, little boy, what are you going to do with your friend's body now that someone knows about it?" he asked in a scornful voice.  
Duo wasn't sure what he would do. He knew that this man had more power than he by age alone. But there was a sort of superiority beneath G's voice that intrigued Duo. A bit like an idolistic voice. Maybe this man, G, * was* his Saviour.  
Or maybe he wasn't.  
"You're going to Hell, Duo. You killed someone, right? That's the worst sin, you know. God won't forgive you. What are you going to do now?"  
That voice echoed through Duo's brain, pounding into his mind.  
/"What are you going to do now?"/  
"I don't know." And Duo crumpled up on the concrete and gravel, miserable.  
G smiled satanically.  
"I do." He said simply.  
  
  
TBC...^_^ Suggestions are welcome.  



End file.
